The Soljund Incident
by Vilinturuth
Summary: An ancient evil is stirring inside the moonstone mine near Rorikstead. People are losing their lives as it tries to escape its ancient prison, to emerge into the surface. Thus it needs to be exterminated for good. And who to call in this hour of need than the Companions?
1. Chapter 1

_This is a two part short story, taking place in the mine Soljund's Sinkhole, near Rorikstead. This incident took place sometime before the Dragonborn joined the Companions, and focuses on the two warriors, Aela the Huntress and Farkas; as they embark on their mission to clear a mine full of Draugr. The first chapter is published now. The second one is coming shortly._

_And as always, any sort of criticisms (positive or negative), pointing out of grammatical mistakes and other suggestions; as well as reviews are absolutely welcome, and very much needed too. Thank you very much in advance for reading!_

___And a huge shout out to Ithil Caladhiel and DuhShiny for reviewing the story and pointing out the mistakes and typos! The aforementioned mistakes have been addressed in this edition of the work! :)_

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**The Soljund Incident part I**

"They are late."

"By the horns of Stendarr; will you shut up already Perth? You know how many leagues it is from Whiterun to Rorikstead, don't you? And it takes at least one whole day of riding to reach the mine from there. So stop being so jittery." The Breton who went by the name of Tuthul told his partner, irritated.

"But they are already three days behind the scheduled date, aren't they? And by Ysmir's beard, you saw what _they _did to Sigrud, didn't you? The workers are talking about leaving, Tuthul, and I doubt very much that we can persuade them to stay any longer, and you know why." Perth sighed, shaking his head.

"You know their creed brother, if they said they would come; they definitely would."

"Aye, they will come alright; except when all this is over."

The two men stopped talking and focused on their mugs of ale. No one had the mood to continue this conversation further. They had been having the exact same conversation for two days now, and every single time it ended on that same note. Things had come to such a point that even the otherwise optimistic Tuthul was having a hard time believing help will come, and even if it did; reach them in time. Perth buried his face in his hands, sighing deeply, while Tuthul started unconsciously scratching his beard, fixing his gaze on the little reflection of the hearthfire on the surface of his ale, trying to imagine what would they do if the worse came to worst; they were pretty sure that help would definitely arrive today, but after the whole day of sitting at the same place and looking at the road, there was no sign of them. Maybe it was meant to happen this way; maybe their saviors got lost somewhere, or had been eaten by wild animals. He remembered the rumors that he heard the other day in Rorikstead; recently a forsworn band was being very active on this side of the Karth River. Maybe… nah, Perth's paranoia was clearly getting the better of him today.

Outside, midnight was steadily approaching. Masser and Secunda's light bathed the lush spring terrain in a silvery paint. Luna moths and Torchbugs filled the air, flying gaily from one flower to another in their nocturnal every day journey. A soft wind blew, gently rustling the grasses caressed by the lights from millions of stars, shining like jewels in crown of the clear night sky. Inside however, a deep air of depression had settled inside the drawing room of the Miner's house; thick as the mist of the early winter mornings. It choked the fire burning in the hearth; played with the darkness of the night, making the shadows in the room darker. Somehow it even barred the entrance for the moonlight, giving the room a feel of a recently opened catacomb. There was no sound except the melancholic sighing of the two men and the soft 'thump' as the mugs were put down on the table to be refilled; mirroring their owner's mood.

The sudden rap on the door was so unexpected that it made them almost jump out of their seats in fright. The first thought that crossed their mind was that _they _had broken out of the mine. But Draugr weren't generally so polite so as to knock before entering someone's house. Whoever or whatever was knocking at the door wasn't a Draugr. But that didn't mean that it wasn't dangerous. They didn't answer.

The stranger knocked again, this time louder; as if he was getting impatient, and probably angry at the house-owner's silence.

"Who… Who's there?" Perth finally spoke.

"We're looking for someone named Perth. This is his house, right?" the voice on the other side of the door was deep, almost like the growling of a wolf. Yep, definitely not a Draugr.

"Wait a moment, I'll be right there."

They looked at each other for a moment; signaling each other with their eyes. As Perth started for the door, Tuthul started readying a Firebolt; while Perth himself had his left hand forming the signs for a Physical Ward; precautions to be taken if the late night visitor was someone with a bit… unfriendly disposition.

Perth opened the door very slightly; so as just to take a look at the visitor. It was a man, a Nord; standing in front of his doorway with a clearly irritated look on his face.

"Who are you?"

"You Perth?"

"Yes."

"I'm from The Companions, here to solve your little problem. But we've been stuck out here for about ten minutes trying to get a voice out of you. Now open the damn door and let me in, will you? Shor's frozen bones; seriously!"

The relief the Perth felt at that sentence was so profound, that for a moment he forgot all about the door and just stood there, smiling like a fool. Tuthul's condition was likewise.

The Companion cleared his throat.

"What the hell are you doing there standing like a buffoon there Perth? Open the bloody door and let him in!"

"Ah yes, yes! Come in; kind Sir! We were expecting you for such a long time!" Perth opened the door wide.

"Hmph, keeping us out in the cold, preparing to hurl a Fireball at us; you surely **were** expecting us!"

"Ah! That! Well, you see sir… umm… we thought that you were… "

"Leave them alone, ice-brain. What these people did was totally justified, and was the correct course of action to take when some stranger suddenly knocks at your door in the middle of the night. Unlike you, some people **do** use their brains."

The sudden voice of the woman made Perth almost jump in fright. She was so well hidden in the shadows behind the hulking Nord that he hadn't even seen her all this time. But he controlled himself just at the right time. Failing to acknowledge the presence of a member of the Companions was considered a show of tremendous disrespect. And the last thing they needed now was their supposed saviors turning their back on them due to some stupid misunderstanding. He sincerely hoped that they had overlooked the surprise on his face.

"Make yourselves at home Sir, Madam. I… I'll be right back after I tend to your horses." Perth said, as he made his way out of the house into the night, sighing in relief.

When he came back after tending to their very tired mounts, Perth saw the two 'people' sitting at their table, talking with Tuthul. His partner hadn't wasted any time, and there he was, along with the crate of their finest ale in front of the visitors. The woman was sipping it slowly from what appeared to be Perth's heirloom glass chalice. The Nord wasn't into that sort of formality; he was drinking it straight from the bottle. Well, whatever suits them.

The man was huge; even by Nord standards. He was almost twenty two hands tall; or as the fancy Altmeri units go, about two _meters _tall. He resembled a bear more than a man, his whole body nothing but knots of rippling muscles, and his shaggy mane of jet black, unkempt hair; with a scraggly beard and the scars just under his left eye gave him a ferocious look; like a wild beast. His huge bidenhander which covered almost three-fourths of his massive height was resting at his side.

The woman was quite tall too, but not as much as the brute. She sported an athletic build; her flaming red hair was cut to shoulder length, and she wore red eyeliner matching the colour of her hair. The eyeliner, together with the dim red halo of the flame of the hearth gave her beautiful face an air of mystery. If she wasn't wearing the armour, she could have easily been mistaken for an actress in the Imperial Theatre. But somehow it was clear that she was not someone you want to get on the bad side of. Her large, intricately designed jet black ebony bow was laid on the table, along with a quiver full of arrows.

But what set them apart from other people was their eyes. They were silver. Those eyes were the proof that they were the members of the circle, the group of the most powerful warriors of the Companions. As surprising it was; Perth was glad, very glad that two from the circle had come; apparently the Harbinger had deemed the case of their mine important enough to send the two of his best.

"Ah! The master of the house is here at last. Sit along with us and tell us the whole tale of your problem." The Nord told Perth, taking a swig from his second bottle of ale.

"Farkas, introductions first."

"Alright, alright; the name's Farkas Steelarm; though the guys back home in Jorrvaskr call me Farkas the pup; and this lady here is my shield-sister, Aela Blackblade, but better known as Aela the Huntress. Oh, and sorry for the delay. We were a bit held up by some unexpected business."

"You, you're The Aela the Huntress? By Ysmir! We have heard so much about your legendary conquests, even in this backwater province of ours! Thank you, lord Farkas, Lady Aela, to come to our rescue. We are absolutely honoured to have you as our guests!" Perth's voice was like butter. There was absolutely no sign of any of the previous irritation and paranoia in his voice.

"You flatter us."

"As for us, my name is Tuthul, and he is Perth. We two are the joint owners of the moonstone mine, Soljund's Sinkhole."

"Sinkhole! No wonder you've got problems here!" Farkas chuckled.

"Aye." Perth started. "Well, you know this mine was found very recently. The digging started a year and a half ago, and we dug up two levels. Since the moonstone veins run quite deep into the earth, we decided to dig a third one. The digging started three months ago. Everything was going quite well, until miner named Ulvar went missing."

"We found his body two days later, along with the first of the Draugr. At its first sight, the workers ran back to the surface like frightened hares. Apparently our digging had led us to an Ancient Nord catacomb buried deep inside the earth. We even called a mercenary group to clear out the pests, but only one of the eight man team came up three days later, without his left hand and eye. All others had perished in the third level." Tuthul filled them in as Perth took a sip from his mug.

"The lad told us that his mates were ambushed by as many as twenty Draugr, commanded by the monstrosity that is known as a Draugr Deathlord. As soon as we heard it, we decided to close off the third level. But three weeks ago they somehow managed to break down the barrier and entered the second level."

"I was there when it happened." Tuthul chimed in, "There was a booming voice, and suddenly the barrier was blown away like a feather. We ran as soon as we heard the voice. The second level closed off and word was sent to Jorrvaskr immediately. The barrier was holding until yesterday, when they broke through. The guard who was watching the barrier, Sigrud, was injured; took an arrow to his stomach. We have closed off the first level, and the monsters still haven't broken through yet. But I don't know how much long we can hold it that way."

"Hmm… about the barrier; who created it?" Aela asked.

"It was me." Perth answered. "Me and Tuthul studied as apprentices for some time in the Collegium Arcane in High Rock, before we came to Skyrim. By that virtue, I have some knowledge about barrier arts. But our knowledge about the arcane only spans to the basics, and we can only do so much."

"Excuse us for a moment." Their visitors spoke between them for a little while in low voices, and then she turned to them.

"I see… Very well; we will start investigating tomorrow, as soon as the dawn breaks. I doubt they will be able to break the barrier tonight; and we are too tired to be any good in combat. What we need now is a good rest. But just to be on the safe side, please go and sprinkle this in front of the barrier, it will make sure the barrier stays firm." Aela said, handing them a pouch.

"What is it?"

"Powdered sunlight and other elements; I had my friend in the College made this for us especially for these kinds of situations."

"Ah, I see. Tuthul, if you would please."

"Why do I have to always do these… ah, whatever." Tuthul took the pouch and went outside.

"Thank you, Companions… we won't forget this kindness ever." Perth was so happy now he could cry.

"Don't thank us before the job is done, Perth."

Very late that night, as the two Companions slept upstairs, Perth sat in his room in front of the statue of Phynaster, praying intently so that the Companions would succeed; and everything would return to normal again. He wanted to rest, but the uncertainty of what **could **happen the next day kept him awake; he was a pessimistic man by nature.

"Ah, dammit! This tension is making me thirsty…" he thought as he closed the door to his room and headed for the basement. He needed a drink.


	2. Chapter 2

_This is the second part of the Soljund Incident. Originally planned as a two part story, the second part has been split into two separate segments due to the length of the original document._

_As always; any sort of criticisms (positive, negative or otherwise) about my style, grammar, content, dialogues etc are warmly welcome and badly needed. Thank you for reading_ :)

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**THE SOLJUND INCIDENT, PART II**

"What do you think?"

"The lad will live."

"Not that ice-brain! The cause of the wound; what do you make of it? You're the expert in these things."

"Ah, that! Well, there is no doubt that the arrow was of Ancient Nordic make. But what's interesting is the three-barbed tips made of ebony it sports. Ordinary Draugr don't have these arrows." Farkas said; his brows knitted into a frown.

"What do you mean?" Tuthul asked anxiously as the group of three headed towards the mine.

True to their word, the Companions had woken up at the break of dawn; readied their gear and set off immediately to the healer's house. They spoke to the healer lady about Sigrud's wound, took a look at the arrow that had felled him, spoke a moment with the now awake Sigrud about the incident, and decided to go down the mineshaft as soon as possible; with worried looks on their faces. Perth had stayed at the healer's to help her with treating him while Tuthul volunteered to accompany their two guests to their destination.

"He means that our enemies are no puny little weaklings."

"Aye, I think the lot of them are at least of scourge level." Farkas affirmed Aela's explanation with a blunt, grim nod.

"Akatosh help us!" Tuthul shuddered as he remembered the voice he heard that night when the second level was breached. So the mercenary lad really did see a Deathlord. That was simply the worst news possible. A Deathlord with his Scourge compatriots might be too much even for the mighty Companions. He earnestly hoped against this grim possibility as they reached the gates of the 'Sinkhole'.

The barrier had held up throughout the night, and as Tuthul chanted the spell that dissolved it, the two warriors readied their equipment. Farkas put his plate helmet over his head and gave his bidenhander a few huge swings while Aela, after checking her backpack for the hundredth time, strung her ebony bow and tested its strings. Helmet-less as she was, her leather armour of fine Argonian make with a light malachite mail shirt sewn within was enough to stop incoming arrows and light swings, while never hindering her mobility.

"Shall I accompany you? I know a little battle magic; I could be of help."

"Nah, no need for that; a half-trained mage will hinder us more than help us down there, and we don't want you die with an arrow to the throat."

A perfectly sound point.

"Oh, and before we go; I would like to tell you two things. Number one, pack up all your bags and leave if we fail to return within two days; and number two, I hate magic." Farkas chuckled as the two Companions stepped down into the bowels of the earth, leaving the soft light of the morning sun and the Breton mage behind.

* * *

"Can you be a bit quieter? It will see us!" Aela hissed.

"I'm wearing plate armour you see, and for your information plate armours tend to 'clink' a bit." Farkas hissed back as the Draugr guarding the entrance to the second level carried on its never-ending stroll; oblivious to the two dark silhouettes lurking in the shadow of the wood piles opposite to it.

It was the first one they had encountered in the first level; which was surprisingly almost untouched by its undead visitors. The mine, like any other moonstone mine was very small in area; due to the property of moonstone veins that caused them to run deep into the earth, rather than spread into a large area like corundum ore veins. The little 'rooms' created when the miners closed the branch tunnels that were dug in search of new veins were empty, and almost half an hour of very cautious and silent treading (and a lot of groaning, cursing and complaining on Farkas' part) they had reached the entrance of the second level. The heavy steel door that guarded the entrance to the second level had been blasted clear off its hinges; as if a mammoth had charged through at full speed. The area near the door was in shambles, and over the debris patrolled the aforementioned Draugr guard.

The mummified skeleton was white as sheet, its flesh fused with its bones and modified so as to withstand the ravages of the time. Whatever magic created these monstrosities was long gone from Tamriel, forgotten by even history, along with the people that created them and dug these massive catacombs to bury their ancestors deep in the earth. What made Draugr different from the walking corpses or 'zombies' as the mages like to call them, was the fact that unlike zombies, the Draugr had human senses and were not governed by any primal need or desire. On one hand, it made them easier to kill as they feel pain like normal humans, but on the other hand it made them cunning, calculating and prone to learn from their partners' mistakes. That, coupled with their unnatural reflexes and seemingly inexhaustible stamina made them truly terrifying enemies. The Draugr was clad in the ceremonial Ancient Nord guard's chainmail. The blue lights that adorned the spaces that were once sockets for eyeballs stared into the distance, lifeless and cold as the glaciers of Winterhold, searching for any signs of possible intruders. The helmet it wore had two horns, curved like the horns of a mountain ram; it denoted its position as a Scourge; a Draugr with complete mastery of one of the several classes of combat; in this case archery, as was evident from the crude, peculiar looking bow slung over its back; known to the weapon-smiths throughout Tamriel as the 'dogbow', noted for its rapid rate of fire and ability to cause utter devastation in mid and short ranges. Smiths have died trying to recreate this miracle of a weapon through the centuries, with no success whatsoever; not only because their design was too complex to understand, but also due to the lack of specimens to experiment upon. Very few who came face-to-face with a dogbow lived to tell the tale, much less carry one out with him. On its belt it carried an Ancient Nord waraxe, along with a hunting horn, to be used to warn its comrades of a possible invasion from the surface.

"Can you take him out?" Farkas whispered.

"I can't get a clean shot with the way it's moving around like that."

"Ready your bow; I'll see what I can do."

Farkas stooped low to pick up a large pebble from the floor; took a careful aim and threw it at the area just beside the centre of the entrance; just when the Draugr passed the spot. It stopped abruptly; turned its head towards the spot where the stone had landed with a 'thump', and fell backwards soundlessly, with a jet black arrow protruding from between its brows.

"Nice shot."

"Nice throw." Aela smiled as she freed her arrow and picked up the dogbow. It would make a wonderful present for old man Kodlak on his upcoming 80th birthday.

The hunt had finally begun.

The second level was an utter mess. Total chaos reigned everywhere. The mining carts were overturned, their contents lying on the floor in unorderly heaps. The support beams were hacked in places and the wooden planks lay everywhere. They even saw an entire branch tunnel that got blocked by boulders and debris as the beams that held them were chopped off. The Draugr had left their mark everywhere. Unlike the first level, the second one had its fair share of residents. As they moved through it, even more cautious now, they dispatched eight of those unholy things in the darkness.

Once they came face-to-face with two patrolling Draugr quite unexpectedly. It was so sudden that both parties froze for a second, looking at each other. Farkas however recovered faster, and their hosts' heads were sent rolling on the floor before they even reached for their weapons.

They continued on.

As they took a break in front of the huge hole that once was known as the entrance to the third level; Aela took out another pouch from her backpack, took a pinch of bright green powder and blew it into the air in front of her. The powder turned into a blue mist and dissipated soundlessly.

"What's that?"

"It shows whether we have missed somebody on our way here. "

"Grr, damned magic."

"You have any better idea to check for stragglers except go all the way back and start over again?"

"No."

"Then stop complaining."

"Hmph. So what does it say?"

"All's well so far. Here, help me down will you?"

The sun was starting to climb in the sky outside when the two shield-siblings entered the third level.

For the most part, the third level was like the second level; only it was straighter, as it had been abandoned in the preliminary stages of construction. After going straight for some distance, it ended in a busted door that led to the intricately designed catacomb of the Ancient Nords. They followed the same protocol as the second level. Move forward as silently as possible… stop… listen for the wheezing sound of a Draugr… move forward again… spot an enemy… shoot it in the face (or get Farkas to distract it and then shoot it in the face)… rinse and repeat. Farkas was getting steadily irritated, partly because he wasn't suited for sneaking like a thief, but mainly due to Aela's bow getting all the action. He was itching for some combat, the old school kind.

And he found what he sought soon enough. It was near the end of the second level of the catacomb. They had killed almost a score of their undead hosts, and still hadn't found the central tomb; otherwise known as the control room of the catacombs. The wide open room they entered was clear at the first inspection. It was when they reached the middle of it they were surrounded by a host of scourges; appearing from almost nowhere. A well planned and well executed ambush; to make a fool out of the tracking instincts of the Companions' finest was a feat worth praising.

"Finally; I was getting very tired of all this crouching stuff." Farkas grinned from under his helmet as he held his trusty weapon in front of him, holding it in the traditional flower-plucking grip, his favourite.

The two sides acted at the same time. The Draugr just in front of him stabbed with its shortspear, aiming for his unprotected throat. Farkas deflected the strike lightly with the flat of his blade, twirled around and struck it full on the face with the counterweight. He split his now staggered opponent with a wide horizontal swing, catching one of its comrade off-guard as it raised its axe to bring it down on him. It was dispatched to the darkness with a sharp thrust through its neck. As he freed his weapon he ducked down to avoid the swing of the sword that whistled over his head and was immediately greeted by an ice spike that hit his chest plate and dissolved harmlessly, striking the spell ward enchantment. Maybe sometimes magic isn't so bad after all; he thought as he severed the weapon arm of the spellsword and hacked its head off its shoulders. He will have to thank Skjor once he got back home, and apologize for all those grumblings and complaining on his part about the enchantment he didn't want on his armour.

The next assailant was carrying a huge steel rimmed heavy shield that covered almost all of its skinny upper body. It approached him slowly but surely, unperturbed by the death of its comrades. Keeping his eyes fixed on the slim sword it was holding, Farkas performed a backhand swing, aiming to strike it in its sword arm; the attack was promptly blocked and responded with a sharp jab, which he had to block with his own weapon. Thrice he tried to break its block, and thrice he was thwarted and forced to go on backfoot. Frustrated, he tried a different approach. Suddenly he stopped moving, ducked to dodge the swing of the sword, used the huge wagon-shaft of a sword as a pivot and slid, sweeping his leg along the ground; hitting the opponent's unprotected leg. The sudden swift strike, as well as the inertia of its own attack caught the Draugr by surprise and it came toppling down, its shield knocked clear from its hand. Farkas never gave it a chance to recuperate. He brought down his sword in a mighty arc and the Draugr's head rolled harmlessly over the floor.

As he looked up from his most recent kill, he suddenly felt a piercing pain on his left shoulder. The first arrow of the Draugr that had separated itself from the skirmish and moved to the far end of the room unseen by others had found its mark through the joint of his almost impenetrable armour. And it was already knocking a second arrow on its bow. There was no time to dodge, much less block; as the next arrow would surely find its mark, and he would be sent on his way to Sovngarde.

Shit. He thought as the Draugr aimed its bow at him.

Something small hummed passed his ear and buried itself deep into the forehead of the Master of the Bow. It wheezed uncontrollably as it fell and let go of the string. The arrow, knocked off its aim, struck the shoulder plate of his armour and bounced off.

"I owe you one."

"Aye. That you surely do." Aela said as she headed to her recent victim to free her throwing knife.

Farkas looked behind him to observe her side of the battle. Six lifeless bodies were slumped at various places of the room, five of them without their heads, and the sixth one with a visible slit on its forehead; the work of another one of her throwing knives. Huh, she beat me again. He thought.

They took a short break to catch their breath and treat Farkas's wound. The arrow had lodged itself deep within the muscle of his shoulder, but had spared any major vessels. He winced in pain as Aela had a bit of a hard time taking it out.

"You were lucky ice-brain, very lucky."

"Aye; that thing was good with its bow. By the way, your new daggers seem to be in good shape."

"I didn't trade that ebony bow and the quiver to the Bosmer for nothing shield-brother."Aela answered as she started bandaging the wound with a clean rag from Farkas' backpack. She absolutely loved those daggers now. Slightly larger than norm, almost the size of shortswords; the two beauties were the best in their class; very handy, and perfectly balanced. She could stab without getting too close to the enemy and slash if the opponent was too jumpy. They were light as a feather, and felt more like extension of her arms rather than weapons. Though some argued that the Bosmer oversold them, she knew that they were worth every single one of the three thousand septims he took over the initial payment of the bow and the arrows for this extremely ordinary looking pair of daggers. She had to keep her eyes out for him the next time he visited Whiterun. What was his name? Something Nightbrook or something, ah those damn elves and their fancy names!

After Farkas's shoulder had been bandaged carefully and healing potion was applied, they resumed their journey through the catacombs again. They reached their objective quickly. After only fifteen minutes of walking and dispatching four Draugr guards, they reached the immense iron double doors that denoted the entrance of their destination.

The control room of the Nordic catacombs.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thus ends the Soljund Incident. Thank you all of the readers for sticking with it until the end in advance :p Any comments and critiques on any part of the story? Feel free to leave them in the review section :) That said; enjoy..._

THE SOLJUND INCIDENT III

The double doors swung open soundlessly as they entered an immense hall almost the same size as the mead hall of Jorrvaskr. It was empty… well almost; on the far end of the circular hall was a platform where ten tombs stood, the ones that hold Draugr, surrounding a high backed stone throne; five on each side of it. And HE sat on the throne.

He looked like any other Draugr they had come across that day, though his skin was… whiter than the rest. He was clad in full ebony plate mail, a rarity even in these days of extreme advancements in mining and smithing. The immense ebony greatsword, one edge jagged and the other one sharp, rested at his side. His head was adorned by a helm, with two horns protruding from its sides, resembling the appendages sported by a mountain elk. He sat on his throne motionlessly, leaning his head on his elbow, apparently deep in thought. His eye sockets were empty, no blue spheres of light glowed in them. He looked… dead; very dead. But they knew better than to take that approach.

"This lad isn't ordinary." Farkas whispered, obviously disturbed.

"I can see that. But nobody lives with an arrow between their brows, undead or not." Aela whispered back as she loaded her bow with an arrow, pulled the string till it reached her ear, took a careful aim, and released it. The arrow sailed through the air, heading straight for the unprotected face of the monster.

The Draugr Deathlord's movement was like water. His free hand perked up and plucked the arrow right out of the air just as it was about to hit him. Other than that his body remained just the way it was; seated calmly on his stone throne as yellow lights, like miniature suns suddenly flared up in the dark caves that were his eye sockets. Aela led out a short gasp.

"_Eh! ful faal sahlojoor los het ahst laat._" He spoke. His voice, papery and husky had a touch of immense power within it. "I see that this room now stands unguarded. _Hi vreyviis zey_. Tell me your names worms!"

"Farkas the Pup."

"Aela the Huntress."

"I'm Rargand Fenrarikson; first lieutenant of the great dragon Kestrahgol, the dov of rage. I am the killer of Thorurd Steel-Seer. I am the keeper of the emerald cuirass. You have done well in coming here insects, but this hall will be your grave, as you shall be crushed by my might." He slowly rose from his throne, grabbing his weapon. The Companions readied themselves.

"_Alok dii zeymah! Alok nol hin laag ahrk drun veyl faal yolos do nahkriin nau daar wo vodremt un praan!_" He roared as he stood up, his back straight as an arrow.

The lids of all the surrounding tombs burst open, as ten monstrosities stepped down from their resting places. Unlike their scourge brothers they were over twenty hands tall, their skin brown, and their eyes glowing red like fire. Each of them wore light chainmail and carried a huge battleaxe with them. Scholars called these the Hulking Draugr, found as royal guards in the most important tombs, generally guarding some incredibly powerful artifact. They were slower than their brothers but much, much deadlier. Each and every hit of these brutes could cleave a man in half, even if he's wearing plate armour and blocking with a shield. The pale yellow light from the ever-glowing lamps that adorned the ceilings of the catacomb made them seem even more menacing.

"_Mu fahral hin bel, Thur. Faal sahlojoor fen dir het, ahrk niist sil fen ag ko Oblivion!_" They spoke in a chorus as they brandished their terrible weapons. But just as they were about to charge he spoke again.

"_Saraan dii zeymah!_ I will battle with the Man. We will cross our swords in a duel to the death, as is the Nordic way. As for the woman, she is yours to kill."

"Hey! That's not..." Farkas was about to tell Rargand what he thought about that brilliant idea when Aela stopped him.

"Wait Farkas. This way we won't have to worry about him taking one of us out when we're busy battling someone else. Accept the challenge. You focus on him; I'll handle the others."

"Very well. But you better not die, okay?" Farkas grumbled.

"I'm more worried about you ice-brain." Aela told him as Farkas approached his opponent and took a position fifteen paces in front of him, in the old Nordic style of greatsword dueling. The hulking Draugrs stepped down from the platform and took their new position in a circle around her.

"Let the duel begin!" Rargand bellowed.

"_Luft vozah zarok ahrk dinok, kroved!_" They roared as one, and charged at Aela.

Farkas had no time to see what happened to her, as he blocked the vertical swing from Rargand with the flat of his blade. He moved away from below Rargand's sword, allowing it to crash down under the force of his swing. As he moved, he started turning, putting his whole weight to the swing that he aimed at the Draugr's unprotected flank. But his blade met the jagged edge of the cleverly positioned ebony greatsword. Rargand dropped the hilt of his sword low; his blade rose up vertically, threatening to dislodge the bidenhander out of its owner's hand, but Farkas pulled his weapon towards himself hard, freeing it from the danger and started turning again as he prepared another swing to the opponent's side. His sword hummed in a wide arc, made a full circle, and hit thin air; the Draugr had anticipated his maneuver and moved back, dodging his blow.

"You have been trained well, worm."

"You're not too shabby either." Farkas was having the time of his life today. He smiled under his helmet as Rargand stabbed at him, aiming at his neck.

* * *

She ducked as the gleaming blade of the terrible battleaxe swam harmlessly over her head and struck upwards; burying one of her daggers up to its hilt in her assailant's throat. She pushed the wheezing limp body towards the second Draugr advancing towards her, freeing her dagger with a jerk. The brute was momentarily distracted and toppled over with a throwing knife in its face. Aela spun around and nimbly sidestepped the vertical swing of the third enemy; swung her dagger in a wide arc, and chopped the head of the Draugr off its shoulders.

Witnessing the effortlessness with which she killed their comrades, the other brutes stopped advancing recklessly and started cautiously eyeing her, waiting for her to make a mistake and strike her down. She also mirrored their movements and took a cautious, defensive stance, the tips of her two daggers making small circles in the air.

Sweat dripped from her eyebrows. Unlike her hosts, the long trek through the catacomb and their little skirmishes were beginning to take a toll on her. She was weary, and the second-in-command of The Companions knew that she could not afford to drag this battle now, either she finished it fast, or get hacked to pieces by her overeager hosts. And to do it, she had to resort to cunning.

She suddenly made a one-eighty degree turn and ran through the gap created in the circle by the death of the three Draugr. Before anyone even knew what happened, she had gained a fair amount of distance between herself and her attackers, sheathed her daggers, drawn the dogbow, knocked an arrow, turned to face her assailants, and fired. The one which was the first to realise she had duped them and started reacting was the first to go, its huge body thrown backwards by the sheer force of the impact of the arrow loosed from that terrible weapon. When the remaining monsters started running towards her, she was knocking arrow after arrow and firing them like a madwoman. Her weariness had offed her aim, and most of the arrows missed their mark, but not all; and two more went down. The remaining three spread in three different directions; two advanced from opposite sides, and the third charged towards her like a raging bull, holding one of its dead comrades body as a shield against the rain of arrows. Aela suddenly changed the direction, took a careful aim, and prayed to Hircine as she let loose the last ebony arrow in her quiver at the Draugr advancing from her right. And by the immense grace of the Lord of the Hunt, her arrow sailed through the air and buried itself in one of the Draugr's eye sockets, killing it instantly.

She had barely let go of the bow and was reaching for her throwing knives when she was tackled by the charging bull at the centre. The impact knocked the wind out of her as she was thrown several paces backwards. She thought she heard one of her ribs break as she landed on the hard ground with a "thonk"; her armour soaking up the brunt of the crushing blow. As soon the brief moment of the bone-jarring stupor passed, she quickly rolled to the right; barely missing the well aimed swing to her neck, the blade of the battleaxe almost splitting the ground where she just lay. The pain in her chest was burning now, and she knew that she could not dodge the next blow. In desperation, she grabbed hold of the shaft of the battleaxe and pulled as hard as she could. The Draugr stumbled, taken aback by the move. She swept her leg and hit it at the back of its knee. It fell forward, its huge body impaling itself in the spear-like end of its own weapon.

As the Huntress scrambled to stand up straight, she spotted the final one of her ten Draugr retinue who had finally closed the gap and was advancing like a rabid dog; its axe held high above its head. She threw her remaining throwing-knives at it, but Ysmir forbid, they missed their mark completely. Every little movement made her chest burn like it was on fire, and the Draugr was too close to chug down a healing potion from her bag. So she unsheathed her daggers and hoped for the best. The brute didn't slow down at all in front of its recently deceased brother-at-arms; rather it swung its blade in a wide arc, cleaving both its comrade and its axe into two neat halves. "_Hi fen dir dokro dinok, hi gaas tingrol!_" it growled and charged towards her, preparing for a last and decisive swing; intent on putting her out of her misery. She held the daggers closer to her chest and prepared for it to come. If her plan worked, she would lose one of her arm, but would have enough time to kill her assailant. Just when the Draugr had swung its arm back to make the swing and she had put one of her hand in a move to block the incoming attack, they both heard the roar:

**"ZUN... HAAL VIIK!"**

The Draugr stopped and turned its head look at its lord, and Aela seized the chance as she stepped towards it and buried both of her daggers in the hollow of its neck.

* * *

The two warriors had been swinging their greatswords for quite some time now, but they turned out to be an even match. Rargand swung, Farkas blocked. Farkas thrust his sword, Rargand sidestepped it. Rargand struck back again with lightning speed, aiming for Farkas' head and then at the last moment changed the direction of his blow to aim for his opponents side, and just as suddenly there was Farkas' bidenhander there, ready to greet its ebony counterpart. They both went at each other's throat with the same ferocity, and each time one of them thwarted the other. The only accomplishment that they managed so far into the fight was a slight wound on Farkas' thigh and a broken right thumb on Rargand's part. Right now, they both fought on equal footing, as Rargand's sword skills had waned over his immense years as a corpse. But Farkas was tiring, and his opponent was beginning to remember the fights from his previous life, and it put Farkas at a steadily growing disadvantage. Twice Rargand had tried to stagger him by using a Thu'um, that one called the Unrelenting Force. And twice he planted his wagon-shaft firmly on the ground and successfully resisted it; after which they both resumed their slashing and stabbing again. Just as he blocked the most recent slash from the opponent near the base of the sword, Farkas saw a sliver of an opening in the opponent's defence and acted on it. He suddenly grabbed hold of the middle of his blade and swung it like a battlestaff, striking his enemy in the face. The sudden extremely atypical move produced a deep gash; one of Rargand's eyes lost its yellow fire. As his enemy retreated from him, groaning in pain, Farkas readjusted his hands on his blade and swung it, lopping off the left arm of Rargand Fenrarikson, and quickly moved back to dodge the blow from the greatsword which his opponent held in relative ease in his right hand.

"_Hi los pruzah, daasin nahwaniik. Nuz hi fen ni neilaas stahdim bah do lot faal dovah Kestrahgol._ Die in pain, worm!" Rargand roared as he puffed up his chest, preparing for a shout. Farkas again planted his greatsword in front of him and held it as a support, ready to brave the upcoming blast of the Unrelenting Force. But only this time, it spoke differently:

**"ZUN... HAAL VIIK!"**

As soon as he heard the first syllable Farkas started to move out of the cone of the shout, but to no avail. The shout hit him squarely in the chest and the immense bidenhander flew straight out of its former position straight towards the wall, hitting it with tremendous force and shattered into pieces. _Yeah, now that's just what I need_. Farkas thought as he watched helplessly as his beloved weapon became a mass of useless metal shards.

"I was becoming bored, so let's finish this for good." Rargand's bellowed like an inferno. He charged, his greatsword clutched firmly in his remaining right hand. Having nowhere to go now, Farkas ducked as his opponent swung. Once; then twice; then thrice. Each swing was becoming more and more precise, and he was becoming a bit more tired. He had to find something to fight with. As he barely sidestepped the incoming stab; out of the corner of his eye he got a glimpse of the situation at the other side of the room. Aela had finished her job and was sitting near a pile of bodies, clutching her chest. She looked like a mess, but she had finished her job; and there were ten huge battleaxes laying around her just ripe for the picking. If he could get a hold of one, he could have a chance; maybe he could even win this ongoing skirmish...

His momentary distraction was enough for his opponent. He saw the vertical arc of the blade, but moved too slow. The massive ebony greatsword missed his head and struck the guard of his right shoulder, broke it like a twig and buried itself in the muscle. A one-handed swing as it was, Farkas thought that he heard the sound of his collarbone snapping. The pain that followed was unbearable; it struck him in waves, drowning all of his senses. His one and only goal now was to stop the pain, one way or another. He grabbed the blade biting into his shoulder with both hands and pushed it upwards. Though Rargand pushed too, the lack of one hand weakened him, and the blade started sliding out slowly. With one last mighty heave, Farkas pushed off the greatsword along with its owner, and was immediately blinded by the blood that spurted out like a summer torrent from his shoulder gash. An artery had been severed. He immediately felt his vision darken; his helmet started weighing down on his head and like a boulder. He tore it off. He tried to stand, but fell down to his knees. The tremendous blood loss coupled with the tiredness made him too groggy to even move a muscle. He saw wearily as his opponent grinned, showing his mottled teeth as he prepared to cut his head off. As the terrible blade descended upon his head, he prayed to Arkay for it to be over quickly. And from somewhere deep inside his soul, a wolf howled.

* * *

When he came to, he saw Aela's concerned face looking at him from above.

"Welcome back, pup."

"Aren't I dead?"

"Nope, but you cut it real close. The amount of blood you lost was staggering. Any more time as a human, and you were finished."

"So it happened."

"Aye."

"How long was I unconscious?"

"About twenty minutes or so I guess. After you pummeled him to death and healed yourself you lost the transformation and lost consciousness. I took the time to retrieve my stuff and heal myself while you were like that, and then waited for you to wake up."

As Farkas stood up he noticed the body of Rargand Fenrarikson, killer of Thorurd Steel-Seer's body; or what was left of him. The yellow suns shone no longer in his eyes; his helmed head, which bore a bewildered expression of disbelief and fear, was attached to the rest of his body only by strings of flesh now. The body itself bore brutal gashes and large chunks of his flesh were missing, as if a great hurricane had set upon him and tore him apart in its immeasurable wrath. The ebony greatsword, along with the arm of its owner lay not far from the body, still clutching it firmly. The brutality of the kill had him dumbfounded.

"Get dressed Farkas, we still need to deactivate the Raise Draugr scroll."

"Hmm? Oh yeah I'm coming. I'm coming." Farkas said feebly. It took him enormous effort to tear his eyes from the scene and go to the place where his plate armour lay. His transformation to a werewolf had triggered the switch installed inside the armour by Eorlund; and thus it had detached itself completely from his body to make space for the growth of the body bulk during the transformation. Farkas undid the buckle that held the now crumpled shoulder guard and re-wore the rest of the armour over the tattered inner wear he was left with. The terrible gash on his shoulder was now a thin, almost undetectable scar.

One of the upsides of being a werewolf. He thought. Then, after taking a last look at the steel shards that were his bidenhander until few minutes ago, he walked over to the raised table behind the throne where Aela was now standing, her eyes filled with admiration.

On the table lay two items, one a sprawled out piece of parchment bearing some strange runes in some long forgotten language; the Raise Draugr scroll; the other was the most beautiful cuirass he had ever seen in his life. It had a smooth brown leather body, which still glistened after all these years. He could not ascertain the owner of the pelt, but it wasn't from the animals that roam Tamriel in this age. The shoulder guards and the rim of the armour were made of an emerald couloured metal, bearing beautiful Ancient Nordic runes and little carvings of what seemed to be a vicious battle between men and a Dragon. The glistening scales of the raging Dragon, the hopelessness in the faces of the men who faced this unbeatable foe werecaptured perfectly, like they were not carvings but real men who found themselves suddenly shrunk and trapped in the shoulder guard of an armour, as nothing but a decoration. The chest piece had two horizontal buckles made of the same emerald-green material, bearing two of the largest rubies they had ever seen in their life, carved in the likeness of scales. It looked like a work of art rather than armour. And accompanying the breathtaking beauty of the armour was the thick fog of magic that surrounded it.

_The Emerald Cuirass, something certainly worth dying for._ He thought.

Aela took out another bottle from her bag; this one filled with dark red liquid, and emptied its contents on the parchment. It stared glowing blue, and then the runes faded into Oblivion; suddenly making the atmosphere around them less menacing and heavy, as if a veil of evil had been lifted.

"Finally, the monsters will stop haunting this accursed place forever." Farkas mused.

"Aye." Aela affirmed as she picked up the writ placed in front of the cuirass. On it, in flowing Nordic runes was written,

_Here lies the Pride of the Raging Lizard in its Emerald glory,_

_It lights the path in darkness and engulfs everything,_

_It embraces the shadows when the light is blinding._

_Guarded by the ebony lieutenant; it rests._

_You, who are the new lord, listen and pay heed,_

_For it will protect you till the blind mistress raises her scythe;_

_But wear it as the sole cuirass of your mortal self till the end of time,_

_Or it will take your life in the time of your need._

"Armour that betrays its master out of jealousy; not my kind of thing." Farkas shook his head.

"Mhm. As pretty as it is, I too am not very keen on claiming it as my own."

"So, what do we do? Leaving it here is unsafe; especially since its guardians are gone and outsiders will be able to enter and leave freely from today onwards. Feel the magical aura it emits? In the wrong hands, it could become a problem."

"Aye. Let's take it to Kodlak. He will know what to do with it." Aela said as she picked the ancient artifact up from its resting place.

As if struck by a reanimation spell, suddenly the carvings jerked to life. In front of the utterly bewildered eyes of the Companions the silent battle resumed. The men fired volley after volley of arrows towards the dragons, but they just shrugged them off like pinpricks and greeted them with emerald infernos from their mouths, cooking the hapless soldiers in their armour. Each swipe of their tails killed the armour clad heavy halberdiers like flies, and their emerald eyes glistened in glee. It was over in two minutes. Leaving nothing but carnage in the battlefield the two little metal dragons left their abode in the shoulder guards and started ascending along the arm of Aela as the latter tried discarding the cuirass in vain, leaving a trail of emerald fire in their wake. She watched helplessly as Farkas tried to help his shield-sister, but as soon as he touched the artifact, he was blown away like a twig in the way of a thunderstorm, hit the far wall of the room with tremendous force, and slumped down limply, probably losing consciousness for the second time that day. After taking care of the unwanted disturbance, the Emerald Cuirass went back to its work. The buckles and joints of the armour separated themselves, changed their shape so as to resemble a woman's armour instead of a man's, and started attaching themselves to her body, replacing her previous leather armour which dissolved in the face of the emerald fire the metal dragons spew.

And Aela the Huntress screamed at the top of her lungs.

The bone-searing; forget-everything-else-but-me pain started dying down as the dragons resumed their rightful places in the shoulder guards, and the armour reattached itself to become a whole mass again; making way for the steadily approaching darkness which engulfed her being. The last thing she remembered before she lost consciousness was a whisper; echoing through every crevice of her head;

**"You pass the test. Welcome, Mistress."**

* * *

The road to Whiterun was empty except for the two travelers on horseback, their visage covered by heavy cloaks; talking in low voices amongst themselves.

"Well, this trip turned out to be more eventful than expected." Farkas sighed. He still wasn't over the loss of his favourite sword.

"Aye; we were undergeared and underprepared for this mission. Some little side-quest it was! But we can't complain much though, our main objective was accomplished quite easily."

"Easily? You mean you found them?"

"You know, you should use your brain more often Farkas; it helps much. If you had paid a bit more attention to things other than the bottle of ale in your hand, you would have noticed immediately that our hosts themselves were the cause of 'The abduction of travelers at the dead of the night on their way to the town of Rorikstead.'"

"Our hosts, you mean those two Bretons?"

"Aye. Well Perth was the actual vampire, Tuthul was his alpha thrall. Most of the other workers were thralls too, though some of them, like the healer woman and that guard Sigrud were not. Purebred Cyrodillic Vampire he was, aye; great at hiding their identities. Though you should have noticed at the powdered sunlight part; ice-brain."

"Then why didn't they attack us, or clear those Draugr by themselves? They're strong, as far as legends go." Farkas asked, puzzled.

"Well firstly, the reason we were sent on this quest was because vampiric spells don't affect werewolves, and that would give them a disadvantage against two Companions. And secondly; they also don't affect the undead, so they had to call for help, or risk their thralls and other workers who, obviously weren't suited or trained for fighting. And by themselves, I suspect they were telling the truth about them being half-trained mages."

"Hmm, now I understand. So, now to the Hall of the Vigilants?"

"Aye. After that straight to Jorrvaskr; I miss the mead already."

"Me too."

**Author's note : What is known now in Whiterun as The Incident of the Sinkhole was recorded in the quest log kept by the then Harbinger of the Companions, Kodlak Greymane, and happened approximately four and a half years before the admittance of the Dragonborn into the mead hall of Jorrvaskr; and was apparently the source of the unusual looking armour and the tremendous hate for Nordic Tombs Aela the Huntress wears on her self today. Mages from the College of Winterhold as well as the Mage's Guild in Cyrodill expressed a very keen interest in the armour and apparently offered a hefty sum in order to aquire it; however, due to certain unspecified reasons the Companions always turned them down. As for the disappearances along the road to Rorikstead; they suddenly stopped after the previous owners of the mine, reportedly burdened with steep losses and debts went back to High Rock; leaving it under the charge of new owners.**

**THE DRAGON LANGUAGE.**

_"Eh! ful faal sahlojoor los het ahst laat."_: Ah! So the pests are here at last.

_"Hi vreyviis zey."_ : You impress me.

_"Alok dii zeymah! Alok nol hin laag ahrk drun veyl faal yolos do nahkriin nau daar wo vodremt un praan!"_ : Arise my brothers! Arise from your sleep and bring forth the flame of vengeance on those who disturb our rest!

_"Mu fahral hin bel, Thur. Faal sahlojoor fen dir het, ahrk niist sil fen ag ko Oblivion!"_ : We answer your summons, Overlord. The pests will die here, and their souls will burn in Oblivion!

_"Saraan dii zeymah!"_ : Wait my brothers!

_"Luft vozah zarok ahrk dinok, kroved!"_ : Face infinite misery and death, defiler!

_"Hi fen dir dokro dinok, hi gaas tingrol!"_ : you will die a dog's death, you filthy mongrel!

**ZUN... HAAL VIIK!** : WEAPON DISARM SHOUT.

_"Hi los pruzah, daasin nahwaniik. Nuz hi fen ni neilaas stahdim bah do lot faal dovah Kestrahgol."_ : You are good, surface dweller. But you won't survive the holy wrath of the great dragon Kestrahgol.


End file.
